The Start of End
by Silverfluff
Summary: Ever wondered what happened before Patrick Jane joined the CBI? What was his life like? Find out more about his wife, daughter(s) and Red John here.
1. Chapter 1

[Patrick Jane]

When I opened my eyes it didn't feel real.

I stared at the white ceiling, taking in the intricate details of the fancy light that hung high above me. I relaxed, feeling the soft mattress beneath my body, a portion of the smooth white covers draped over my chest. One of my hands rested on top of the blankets, the other underneath, clenching in a sweaty fist.

My heart pounding, I wondered if last night was all a dream. It felt too good to be true.

There was only one way to find out.

Slowly, carefully, I turned my neck, focusing on the rotating of bones and the soreness of my neck. I closed my eyes, half afraid of what I might find. But she had wanted it; I didn't force her or anything.

And there she was.

[Angela Ruskin]

Unlike some people when they lost their virginity, I didn't regret it. I knew I had made the right choice, and it was the appropriate time. Although time never flew so fast last night, I was content.

I felt Patrick shift beside me and felt a sudden urge to see his face. I turned, savoring the moments before my breath would be taken away like it always was.

When I turned, he was staring at me.

Even though I've known him for a long, long time, perhaps since I was 6, but he still stole my breath away. The ruffled golden curls, the deep blue eyes, the lips that cracked into a grin when our eyes met.

My heart fluttered in my chest as my mouth curved into a smile in return.


	2. Chapter 2

[Patrick]

The relief was immense and the happiness that followed was overwhelming.

I gazed into the now-familiar pale gray eyes and the soft bouncing curls that hung below her shoulders.

I pushed back the urge to grab her and attack her sleepy face with kisses as I watched her get up and slide a shirt over her head.

I stretched myself, grunting as I climbed out of the super-queen-sized bed I slept in. _We _slept in.

[Angela]

It was a good 15 years ago. I was 6 years old, Patrick 7. I first saw him sitting on top of a small, pathetic run-down Ferris wheel with his dad. I could tell he was reluctant. His fingers gripped the Ferris wheel bar tightly, and his eyes stayed fixed to the ceiling of their box.

As I watched his father snapped at him and he slowly raised his binoculars to stare down, at my direction. I gulped and looked away quickly.

Still then, I couldn't block out his blue eyes, blonde curls and lopsided, easy grin.


	3. Chapter 3

[Angela]

It was a good 15 years ago. I was 6 years old, Patrick 7. I first saw him sitting on top of a small, pathetic run-down Ferris wheel with his dad. I could tell he was reluctant. His fingers gripped the Ferris wheel bar tightly, and his eyes stayed fixed to the ceiling of their box.

As I watched his father snapped at him and he slowly raised his binoculars to stare down, at my direction. I gulped and looked away quickly.

Still then, I couldn't block out his blue eyes, blonde curls and lopsided, easy grin.

[Patrick]

I headed to work, as usual. I was a psychic. I mean, not those psychics who read cards, palms or even tea leaves (who reads tea leaves. I mean come on. What, the wrinkles say "Oh hey say they're gonna have a generally good life but they'll meet some ups and downs in life..." Duh.)

I read _people. _Like, not flip them or anything of course. But I look into their eyes and I know. I know what they're thinking. Yeah, call it a supernatural power.

I call it my gift.

And I make quite some money, so I'm content. Angela is kind of a psychic too, though. She used to be in the same carnival as me. We were referred to the "carnival royalty" after a while. My dad didn't really like it though.

But that didn't stop us from getting to where we are now.


	4. Chapter 4

[Angela]

It was a few days later. As Patrick left for work, I sank into the couch, gripping the mug of coffee in between my hands. I switched on the television and flipped through the channels.

I settled with the Daily News that came up. There was a murder case in the north of California, at Sacramento. It was a gruesome sight. The murderer made it look like a messy job, but with close examination one could see that it was skillfully done.

The sheets were arranged carefully around the victim, with no stray bloodstains, so obviously she wasn't killed on the bed. Her hair was splayed out behind her, which was only possible if she was dragged downwards or dropped from a height. She was fully clothed, with blood soaking through her tank top and shorts, so it wasn't a sexual assault.

I was beginning to feel proud of myself for being so observant until I saw it. The trademark, which I had heard so many times, but never really saw it because we didn't order the daily papers and we hadn't kept up with news for a long time.

The trademark of death, of power, of murder.

The red smiley.

It was a… I guess you could call it a routine. The killer uses the victim's own blood every time, to paint a huge red smiley face on the wall above or behind the victim.

It stared back at me, with scarlet blood dripping down the perfectly formed circle, the curve of the eyes and mouth. It smirked as if mocking the police for not finding him after almost half a year. Throughout the 6 months there were 6 murders.

I felt sick to the bone at the thought of killing for fun. My hands shook and my coffee mug slipped from my hands, crashing onto the white carpet below.

"Dang," I muttered as I tried to shake off the uneasiness and went to get a rag to clean the mess up. At least the mug wasn't broken. I grabbed the cloth and mopped up the mess, wondering why I was so uneasy.

I mean, murders happen all the time, right? What's such a big deal? Why did I feel so queasy?

I decided that I wasn't feeling well so I called in work to take a day off. I climbed onto the already-made bed, intending to read a book or browse a fashion magazine.

I hadn't gone very far before my tummy started cramping and it was so bad I doubled over, clutching my abdomen.


	5. Chapter 5

[Patrick]

I was just settling down into my office when my cell rang. Recognizing the ringtone, I answered.

"Hey baby, what's up?"

I never expected her pained panting to answer me. Panic seized my heart as I heard her pleading with me to come home. Angela was a tough person; life in Carnivals did that to people. I've never heard her suffer so much before. I quickly promised to do so and grabbed my unpacked stuff.

I gestured wildly to my colleagues, hoping they would understand the emergency and help explain to my boss. Sweat dripped down my back and down my temple as I rushed to our apartment.

When I reached inside, I called up urgently "Angela? Angie, baby, are you alright?"

I heard a whimper from the master bedroom and took two steps at a time up. She lay in a pile of rumpled bed sheets that were so carefully made and laid two hours ago. She was curled up, clutching her stomach while she squirmed in pain. Her brow was moist with sweat and strands of hair stuck to her forehead. I looked down at my feet and found her vomit on the floor. I tried not to wince as I crossed over to the bed and laid a hand on her cold cheek.

Awkwardness took over as I wondered if she was having menstrual cramps. She seemed to sense my hesitation and snapped, "No, Patrick, I'm not having my period now. Please, get me some aspirin from the drugstore?"

A sudden realization seemed to cross her eyes and her speech slowed down into a meaningful drawl. I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding and asked her what was the matter.

"Oh, I'm not sure, cramps or something… Aspirin, please?" She grimaced, as if to emphasize her point. I shrugged, fetching her a warm towel to clean up a bit. After wiping up the vomit I headed off to the nearby aspirin, trying to shake off the feeling that something was off.


	6. Chapter 6

[Angela]

Initially, I was annoyed that Patrick thought I'd have menstrual cramps this bad. It was then it struck me.

I was late.

Was it possible? Thoughts raced in my mind as I absentminded told Patrick to get me some aspirin. Anxiety crept into my heart and I pushed it down, chiding myself not to make a mountain out of a molehill. It could be just cramps, after all.

I waited impatiently as Patrick cleaned up the mess I threw up and headed off to get aspirin. I scrambled up, wincing and pausing at the bedside as pain pricked at my abdomen. I stumbled to the bathroom, rummaging the cupboards for the pregnancy test equipment, my heart pounding so loudly I was half afraid Patrick would come back.

Positive. I rubbed my eyes, head spinning, as I looked at the test results. My heart raced if it hadn't been racing for the past minutes when I did the test. My heart thudded as if it would break out of my ribcage. Stars actually appeared at the side of my vision.

Positive.

You've got to be kidding me.


	7. Chapter 7

[Patrick]

The moment I stepped onto the porch with the plastic bag of aspirin gripped in my hand, I knew something was off. Call it my psychic powers, but I felt a shift in the atmosphere.

A not very good shift.

I grabbed the aspirin tightly and bounded up the stairs, half expecting to find Angela sprawled on the bed squirming again. I felt cold sweat dripping down my back and getting absorbed by my shirt as my heart hammered away in my chest. When I stepped in, I saw, to my relief, Angela sitting on the edge of the messy bed.

She was alright. That was all it mattered to me then. I threw down the aspirin and grabbed her in a tight hug, running my shaking fingers through her wild blond curls. Though I felt her arms wrap around me in a fierce embrace, I knew something was wrong, and I had to ask.

"Angie, is everything okay?" I carefully asked, keeping my promise that I made a few years ago not to intrude into her thoughts, although I very well could.

It was then I noticed her face. How tired she looked, her blue eyes losing their usual bright sparkle and the skin around her cheekbones sagging slightly. It was only a few weeks after our marriage! What in the world happened? Her blue eyes were filled with a curious mixture of anxiety, excitement, and most of all, fear.

She swallowed visibly, looking away before meeting my eyes again. I was really scared now. _Why is she behaving like that?_

Then it came. The answer I've been asking so urgently for. It was soft, coming out as a quiet breath, so soft I thought I'd imagined it. The gentle puff of breath from her mouth hit me in the face like a 20-tonne weight. My head spun as sparkles appeared at the corner of my eyes. I took an involuntary step backwards, as if staggering from the impact.

"I'm pregnant, Patrick."

She repeated it, a little louder this time. That was the confirmation I needed. I gulped, my vision clearing of weird dancing spots as I fixed my gaze on her beautiful face.

_This is a mistake, _a small voice in my head whispered. _You're not ready to be father! What were you thinking, you jerk?! Now you got Angela pregnant. What. Have. You. Done. _


	8. Chapter 8

[Angela]

I watched as Patrick took a small step back away from me. Horror was written clearly on his face as he registered what "he had done". My heart sank. I had been anxious and afraid, excited even, at the idea of having our own child. But if Patrick wasn't ready to take on the responsibility, or if he didn't even want one…

How could I possibly manage alone?

Afraid he did not hear me clearly, I repeated my statement. His eyes cleared as they focused on me. I stared back earnestly. What would he do? His face was a mask of fear, and maybe a little of anxiety.

"Angela… I…" He finally spluttered, eyes darting around the room. I knew what he was going to say. He was going to apologise, and tell me that he couldn't do it, he wasn't ready… He would tell me to get an abortion, or he could simply just walk out the door.

Something in his eyes change as a thought crossed his mind. His blue eyes hardened with the determination I saw when he proposed. They filled with the warm love and protection I saw when we married. And now his lips were on mine, with the same gentleness when we first kissed.

"Angela. I'm so, so sorry. I should've thought about you. You weren't ready. You were too young… I'm sorry honey."

This was not what I expected. I pushed his face a few inches away and looked him in the eye. "No, Patrick. Are _you_ ready? I am." His eyes widened in surprise but he nodded. Excitement lit his face and I smiled in return.

The first spark of hope appeared in my chest, widening slowly.

Maybe, just maybe, we could make this work.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for not updating for a while! Things are kind of busy right now, but here is the next chapter :) Review please!**

[Patrick]

I vowed to take care of her, and our unborn child, with my whole being. Time passed with the routine of waking up with Angela still asleep beside me. I slipped into the habit of watching her sleep peacefully for a moment before getting up and going to work. Angela stopped going to work during the first month of her pregnancy. At first I took a few days off to take care of her until she insisted she knew how to take care of herself and practically threw me out the house to get to work.

At work, my mind still wandered to Angela. And the baby in her womb. Is she a girl? Or a boy? Will she have our blue eyes? And our blonde hair? The curls too?

Time shot past alarmingly quickly and the baby bump became more and more obvious. I brought Angela shopping for maternity clothes. I had to admit: she looked pretty good in them.

Her mood and patience were running low these days. And she had a craving for milk chocolate. That was easy though. I went for a trip to Walmart every Sunday to stock up our chocolate supply.

That was just another usual day, waking up, kissing Angela on the forehead, helping her up as she prepared for work. I left for work as usual, never ever thinking that such a terrible thing was going to happen.


	10. Chapter 10

[Angela]

I knew my mood worsened through the pregnancy, and Patrick did a good job putting up with me. Frustration constantly waged through me and I felt the craving for chocolates. Since I couldn't stand the bitter tang of dark chocolate I went for milk chocolate.

Every morning, I woke up and slipped into the routine of showering, rubbing my hands over my abdomen. Slowly, as the days developed, I felt the baby bump. At first it was just a small bump coming out from the lower part of my tummy, almost invisible under my clothes.

I had morning sickness too. Every morning when I woke up, Patrick would be gone, but sometimes he would be there, waiting for me to leave for work together. I would clean up and sit on the toilet, clutching my abdomen until I threw up. After that things usually went easier. Except for constant tiredness I was fine.

When my pregnancy hit the 5 month mark, the baby bump was pretty much visible even with clothes. But people still mistook it for putting on weight though. I rubbed it every now and then, feeling the hard bump, wondering how was the baby. By then we knew it was a girl.

It was a usual morning. Patrick went for work early. As usual, I squatted in front of the toilet, waiting to vomit. Surprisingly, it didn't come up. I still felt a little nauseous, but headed for work anyway. On the way as I stopped at the cross road, bad cramps seized me. My knees almost buckled beneath me as I bent over slightly, clutching my abdomen. Involuntarily I pressed my fists into the baby bump, hoping the pain would subside.

Boy, was I wrong.

The pain intensified into a squirming pit in my abdomen. I gasped as I tried to make it across the road while the green light was on. I staggered a few steps and stopped, pain rippling through my womb.

_What the hell was happening? I was only 5 months!_

Suddenly my knees gave way as the light turned red. A taxi zoomed past my kneeling figure and I tried crawling to the pavement. Pain tore up my tummy and I screamed in agony. _What's happening? Why does it hurt so much?_

I turned to the sound of screeching tires.

The next thing I felt was the sensation of flying. No, not flying. Being thrown off the road like a rag doll. My body stretched out, intensifying the pain until I felt like it would rip me apart. I landed on the road with such a jarring impact that my head spun and everything went black.

Through the agony and pain, I clutched my tummy, pleading and pleading that I would be alright, my baby would be alright…


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry for not updating for such a long time! Here it is.**

[Patrick]

I received the call from the hospital an hour after I reached my office. My mind went numb and I acted on instinct, driving to the hospital and demanding to see Angela.

I had to wait. Oh gosh, how I hated waiting. I wondered if the baby was okay. I wondered if Angela was okay. Cold sweat dripped down my back as I buried my head in my hands. I had no idea how much time passed.

I was an atheist. I had never been one to believe in God. People said God created us, but I think we created Him. It was our thoughts and beliefs that created such a person up in Heaven which we ultimately called "God". Today was an exception. I prayed and prayed until the doctor came out and told me I could go in.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping against hope that they were alright. I entered the room and drew back the ugly green curtains surrounding Angela's bed. Her huge blue eyes stared at me as I lowered myself cautiously into the hard plastic chair. I gripped her hand tightly. She flinched, her hand flying instinctively to her tummy. "How is she?" I whispered, almost scared of her answer. Her chapped lips curved into a weak smile, her answer coming out as a relieved breath. "Yes."

"Praise the Lord," my voice shook as I grabbed Angela in my arms. Her body shook as sobbed wracked her frame. I patted her back gently. I could not imagine how much did she go through hours ago. The fear she must have felt. But now, she was okay. Our baby was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

And in that moment, an image of God took place in my mind. I saw Him with my mind's eye. A grandfatherly figure, with a long white beard and a bald head. A wrinkled smile etched across his face as he reached out a hand to me. Gratitude welled up against my chest and I sent silent thanks to Him.

_Thank you. Thank you so much._

And then he was gone. Opening my eyes, I found Angela asleep with her head resting on my shoulder. I shifted her gently, afraid to open any wounds or wake her from her rest. Her hand gripped my arm suddenly and she started murmuring. I leaned in, and heard, "Don't go... No... No, Patrick, is our baby okay... Okay..." It broke my heart to see how much she suffered. It must be the pregnancy thing, her being so emotional. She had always been a strong girl before. We came from carnivals. Hard lives. But we got through it. I knew she was a strong girl.

She can do this.

We can do this.


	12. Chapter 12

[Angela]

After that accident, Patrick rarely left my side. He sent and fetched me from work. As the baby grew and moving became more tiring, I didn't object. Time passed quickly and soon the baby was due. I was scared. Really scared. This was my first child.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what were the signs that it was starting. I didn't know what would happen after that. I was told it was painful. I didn't know if I could stand it. For the first time in my life, I doubted my strength. Coming from a carnival, nobody did that. We were brought up to be strong, we grew into tough men and women.

And I knew I was tough.

But I don't know if I'm tough enough.

A week before my baby was due, I took maternity leave from work. I stayed at home, killing time knitting little clothes for our daughter. It was a tradition from the Carnival. I would occasionally rub my hand across my round belly, wondering how was she doing. Slowly I noticed the gap between my breasts and my swollen abdomen was getting bigger. My doctor told me it was a sign the baby was coming.

That Thursday I knew it was coming. I woke up feeling refreshed and energetic. Patrick left for work as usual and I sat on the sofa, working on the clothes for our baby. Two hours passed and I was getting up to make lunch when it happened.

The pain was similar to what I felt when the road incident happened. The first wave hit and I doubled over, clutching my abdomen. It didn't hurt that much but I was scared. I sat on the carpeted floor, breathing in and out as waves of contractions arrived.

Then it hit me. She was coming.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks for the incredible number of views and your constant support!**

[Patrick]

I'll have to be honest. Angela's call scared the hell out of me. I didn't know what to do. Sure the doctor gave us some basic instructions but suddenly I wasn't sure. How was it going to be? Will Angela be okay? Will our baby be okay? What do I do?

Panic edged my voice as I told Angela to stay where she was while I rushed back. Her voice was laced with pain and cries as she gasped that our baby was coming. Maybe it was because of the heavy breakfast I had this morning, or the nervousness churning in my stomach, I threw up the moment she hung up. Scrambling up, I made it back home in record time. Angela lay on the carpet, her stomach heaving, her face drenched in sweat.

I felt this anxiety before. When the first time she called me back the day she found out she was pregnant. I could see her again, her belly flat, curled up on the bed, her blond hair plastered to the sides of her face with sweat. And here she was again, on the floor.

Frustration raged within me as I struggled to accept I could not take the pain away from her. I knelt down beside her and stroked her face, brushing my lips across hers as I assured it was going to be okay.

_What was I saying? I don't know if she really was. _But I hoped. I hoped with all my heart.

I quickly grabbed the bags we packed a few weeks ago for this moment. I rushed to the car, dumping them in the passenger seat. My legs wobbled as I made my way back to Angela. I had no idea how much she was suffering. She screamed in pain as her hands gripped her stomach. I scooped her up in my arms. Her legs dangled across my arm and her hands clutched at the front of my shirt. I could hear her breathing loudly, in and out, in and out.

I laid her gently across the backseat and drove to the nearest hospital. It was a ten minutes drive but it felt like two hours. Angela gasped for me to hurry and my hands were slick with sweat. Her screams and groans in the backseat tore my heart.

[Angela]

I had no idea how long I lay on the floor, but Patrick made it back home real quick. I was in too much pain. Contractions came more quickly, but they never left fast enough. Finally I could not hold it anymore and let go. A scream tore my throat as agony gripped my belly. I cursed in my mind. _Damn, this is dang painful._

Patrick carried me to the car. The pain lessened a little as a wave passed, but once he started driving along the bumpy road another arrived. Through the white sheen of pain I knew I could not scream. Patrick needed to get us safely to the hospital.

Me and my baby.

Reality sank in. _I'm having a baby. She's coming anytime. Oh my god._ I suppressed the yells into groans as I tried to hurry Patrick. Finally I felt the car back into a space and Patrick scooped me into his arms again.

It hurt like hell.

The moment he entered the door a nursed rushed to us with a wheelchair and he put me in it. It hurt sitting upright. I bent over but the nurse pulled my back straight. I grunted. Whatever, it hurt too much both ways.


	14. Chapter 14

[Patrick]

They wheeled Angela into the delivering room. Not knowing what to do, I paced outside the door. I watched as they stripped off her clothes and put a blue hospital gown on her. I wiped my sweating palms on my trousers as her face scrunched up in pain as yet another contraction hit.

She lay on the bed, her body heaving, her face sweating a whole ocean. I sat on the bench outside, head in my hands. Damn, what do I do. The fear I felt was stronger than the time I waited for Angela after her accident. This was awful.

Suddenly the doors sprang open and a nurse with a clipboard marched out. Her tag read "Alotte Gibson" on her hospital scrub. "Ms. Gibson,"I gasped. "How is she?" She gave me her professional smile and laid a hand on my arm. "She's doing fine, but she wants you to go in with her. Please, sir, put these on. For hygiene purposes," she replied. I quickly slipped on the hospital gown she handed me.

She led me into the room. I rushed to Angela's side. Her face was something I would never, _could _never, forget. Unable to imagine the pain she was in, I could only grasp her hard hands and will the pain to go away.


	15. Chapter 15

[Angela]

I could not describe the pain. Everything was a blur of white and red. I squeezed Patrick's hand so tight I could hear his teeth grinding in pain. But what could I do? It was the only thing to stop myself from pushing.

"Okay, Mrs. Jane, you are doing really well. Now I need you to push! Push!" The nurse urged.

I sucked in a deep breath and pushed. I pushed until I thought my belly and lungs would explode. Still nothing happened. I continued. It was tiring. I had no idea how much time passed, but the pain was becoming numb and I was exhausted. Even my grip on Patrick's hand weakened.

_So, so tired._

"I see the baby's head!" That brought me back. Acting on instinct, I pushed again. The agony ripped me apart, and I screamed. I did not know what I was doing. All I was doing was pushing, pushing, pushing. God, I was sick of pushing.

Suddenly the nurse told me to push. "_I'm pushing!"_I screamed. But the urgency in her voice frightened me. "What's happening to the baby?" Tears rolled down my sweaty cheeks. "What happened?!"

"Mrs. Jane, everything's going to be okay. Now we need you to push the baby out, okay? Push, honey!" God, why can't the nurse just tell me already?! "What happened?!" I yelled. My heart hammered twice as fast when I heard what was happening. The umbilical cord was wound around our daughter's head. If I don't get her out soon, she would suffocate.

With newfound strength, I pushed.

And 3 hours later, she was there, lying in my arms.

And then everything went black.


	16. Chapter 16

The relief was profound. When I heard the baby might not be able to make it, my only thought through the shock and grief was that Angela had to be safe. I couldn't lose both of them. Again, I looked to God.

Remember when Angela got into that horrible car accident and I was waiting outside the emergency room? That was one exception. I never thought I would pray to God again, but I did. I prayed ten times harder.

I could feel Angela crushing my hand and the pain was excruciating. I gritted my teeth until I heard the nurse gasp and the baby was laid in Angela's arms. I did not know how much time passed, but a glance at the digital clock told me 3 hours had crawled by.

Then with a final push she was out. Our baby. She was wrapped up in a towel before being placed in Angela's arms. Angela was drenched in sweat and her eyes could barely open in exhaustion. Yet she whispered, "She's beautiful, Patrick."

Then her face changed. It turned into a mask of defeat, numb pain and yet determination knitted her eyebrows and she gasped in pain. My hands were slick with sweat again. What was happening? The doctor rushed to her and pressed her womb. Angela shrieked but her hands hung limply over the bed. Regardless, the doctor prodded her tummy and announced, "There's another baby coming my dear. Did you know you were having twins?" I gasped. Twins?!

Angela groaned. "No, no I didn't. I wasn't told there were two fetuses in my womb when we went for our check ups," she gasped as another wave of pain seized her. She had no strength left for this baby. My forehead creased with worry as I watched my wife struggle with our unborn baby.

She was, after all, human. She had no super strength nor help from us. It was either her die pushing the baby out or the baby die inside her and the doctors remove it through surgery. She was human, but she had determination. With an earsplitting howl she summoned her last ounce of energy and a tiny body slid out. The nurses automatically moved in to take the baby while the doctor examined Angela. She had passed out the moment the baby was delivered.

"Is she going to be alright?" I demanded, clutching our firstborn tightly in my arms. When the doctor didn't answer I set our baby down and moved closer to Angela. I held her limp hand. It was cold and wet. Her palms had bloody prints where her fingernails dug in when she clenched her fists during the pain of labor. "Angela, baby, I'm right here. I'm never going to leave. Please, can you hear me?" I whispered frantically as I swept damp strands of golden hair from her exhausted face.

"Mr. Jane, your wife needs rest. Please move aside while we transfer out of the delivery room, okay? She's going to be fine." The doctor told me in her professional emotionless voice as she herded me out. Letting my breath out in relief, I retreated out and sank down into the hard plastic chairs. I held my head in my hands and stared down at my lap, still covered with the green hospital gown. I ripped the disgusting clothing away from my body and thought of all the things that happened in a day.

My wife went into hard, painful labor for almost 4 hours. She is now unconscious. God knows when she'll wake up. I have two children. Our girl has a younger sibling. Our girl. Charlotte. The name formed in my mind, like a final jigsaw piece fitting perfectly to form a beautiful picture.


	17. Chapter 17

[Angela]

I knew I was out cold.

I was so, so tired. In fact, all I could do was to keep my heart beating. To count the slow tired pumps as my heart worked to keep me alive. Where there was pain minutes ago was numbness. All I could hang on to was our daughter's round little face, scrunched up as she bawled. And yet, so beautiful. I grappled helplessly with the endless pit that I seemed to be dragged into.

Deeper and deeper…

I was never going to make it out alive, was I? Is my life really going to end so soon? A fullstop so quickly before the sentence was complete? No, I had so much more to do… How will Patrick possibly cope alone with two kids? No, I had to make it through. For our children. For Patrick… For myself…

I felt my heart give a last, tired _ga-lump_ as it stopped moving all together. I could feel the little voice inside my head dying slowly as my brain lost its supply of fresh blood. _No! _I screamed silently. _I can't die like this…_

Though knowing everything I do now will probably fruitless, I refuse to give up hope. I gathered all the willpower from my already drowsy head and mentally pushed them to my heart. _Beat, beat, come on, beat! _I pleaded desperately. I could see a fatherly figure in front of me with a halo on his head. He smiled a assuring smile and stretched a hand out to me. "Come with me," he seemed to say. "Get rid of the hard work and painful memories forever. Come."

I knew, in a small part of my head, that I was dead. He was the angel god sent me to claim my soul. _No! _I screamed. _I won't come with you! It's not my time. I won't leave my family behind. Go away!_

Surprisingly he did. I suddenly felt my sagging body heave as my heart contracted and relaxed. I felt the welcoming wave of oxygenated blood rushing to my head, my limbs, all over my body. I gulped in a huge breath, gasping as the cold air rushed down my windpipe and filled my lungs.

This really happened. I was alive again.

I realized my hand was being gripped so tightly I knew who it was. I opened my eyes with great difficulty and gave a weak smile at Patrick, just before I saw his face growing larger and larger. Then his lips were on mine and there was nothing left to say.


	18. Chapter 18

[Patrick]

When the doctor told me Angela's heart stopped beating, it was like thunder on a sunny day. I hated myself, I hated myself for not being able to do anything. I hated this helplessness. I followed the doctor numbly to Angela's ward.

Angela was my everything. She was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was the girl I ran away with from the carnival. She was the central of my life. How could she just be dead like that?

I sat her bed, watching the perfect face, the golden curls, the slightly crooked nose, the full lips I loved to kiss. I smoothed the blanket on her and took her hand. It was so, so cold. And damp from sweat. Turning it over, I traced the prints from when she dug in her fingernails, amidst the pain. I kissed each of her fingertips, catching a whiff of her scent lingering. Tears rolled silently down my cheeks, and my heart felt like it was shattering into a billion tiny pieces.

Then a miracle happened.

The heart monitor beeped. I thought it must be wishful thinking, too scared to hope. Then it beeped again. And again. My eyes snapped up to the machine, hope welling in my chest. Was this possible? To come back from the dead? Or was the machine faulty or…?

A gasp sounded from Angela as she sucked in a deep breath, her body heaving upwards.

Oh my god.

The tears came quicker than ever, not because I was sad, but because I was so, so happy. My Angela is back. She is now truly an angel sent from heaven. I was so glad to see those beautiful blue eyes again. I gazed deep into them and saw endless, unlimited love. I felt myself moving forward, closer and closer to my angel. A small part of my brain told me I was being careless and rash, Angela just went through something big and she needed the rest. But I didn't care.

Then my lips met hers, gentle at first, then with ferocious love and adoration. "Never leave me again," I whispered between kisses, "never do that again." I heard the beeps from the heart monitor accelerating and fought back a chuckle. A faint blush tinted her cheeks, love swelling from my chest I thought my heart would burst out.


	19. Chapter 19

[Angela]

I recovered fairly quickly, according to the doctor. I think it was due to the reason Patrick brought our daughters to see me everyday, murmuring to them how amazing I was, etcetera etcetera. He could never stand my embarrassed reaction and we'd end up kissing again.

I was out of the emergency ward in two days, into the maternity ward, with my daughters in little plastic cots beside my bed. I was worried about the younger one, she was so small. We named her Anne, and her older sister Charlotte. Anne was…tiny. She had to be tiny, the doctor didn't even know she was in me. No wonder my womb was larger than I'd expected in the end. Not that I regretted carrying Anne, but the doctors should have known.

Three days later Anne fell sick. Patrick and I were terribly worried, clutching Charlotte to our sides the whole time, afraid she would catch the disease too. I prayed and prayed nothing would happen to Anne. Two days later I heard the horrible news.

Perhaps I did not pray hard enough.

Perhaps God did not hear me.

Perhaps I wasn't good enough a mother.

Anne died.

She died in my arms, her little arms clutching at my chest as she wheezed painful breaths and cried pitiful little wails. My heart broke seeing my baby daughter suffer the pain she did not deserve. My tears dropped onto her skinny little face and she calmed down a little, burrowing into my breasts for the last mouthfuls of milk before she took her last lungful of air. Her little whines and protests died down as breathing became harder and harder. With a tiny shudder, her eyelids fluttered close, never to open again.

It wasn't fair.

The pain I felt was indescribable. It shattered my heart to a million pieces. What did I do wrong? Tears streamed down for a whole two days and when there were no more left to shed, my heart never mended itself. There would forever be a gaping hole where my younger daughter should have been, where I should have watched her grow up into a young lady and live her life, like her sister will.

It wasn't fair.


	20. Chapter 20

[Patrick]

Eventually we both got over the grief. Slowly, hand in hand, Angela and I made it out, for Charlotte's sake. We watched, as she grew everyday, then we were out of the hospital and back in our house. And we gave her a middle name. Angela and I had agreed years ago on ignoring both of our middle names, as a tradition of the people from carnivals. I wanted to continue the tradition but Angela insisted. What could I say? Watching her grieve over our dead daughter was enough pain for us. So I agreed.

She was called Charlotte Anne Jane. To remember her dead sister. It brings back painful memories of Anne, still a little baby, lying in Angela's arms as she suffered the terrible illness until her soul left us for a safer, warmer place. Heaven. Knowing she was safe and happy up there, we were contented.

Years passed faster than I'd liked. Charlotte grew into an adorable little girl. She had my light blue eyes and Angela's bouncy golden curls. A dimple formed on her left cheek whenever she grinned. She was adorable. Angela doted on her, dressing her in poofy baby pink and blue dresses, even if it were for a short stroll to the park. I loved them both dearly. More than once I wondered what Anne would look like if she grew up with her sister. Beautiful, I'd bet. Like their mother.

One day we brought Charlotte to a shopping mall under Angela's complaint that we needed to stock up our supply of milk powder. Of course I agreed and drove them to the mall. There was a piano on display in one of the shops and instantly Charlotte's eyes sparkled. "Daddy, what's that?" She chirped in her high little voice. I ruffled her hair and told her it was a piano, and that it makes wonderful music.

Angela decided to bring her in to fully satisfy her curiosity. She ran on her little legs to the nearest piano, planting her butt on the chair and staring at the keys. The salesman came over and smiled at his tiny customer. He offered to teach her a few notes and that was it. Charlotte definitely had talent in music. She learnt quickly and was able to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" without many mistakes after 10 minutes. We were amazed.

Deciding to test it out, we got her an electric keyboard. In our excitement we hurriedly got the milk powder and rushed home. After it was installed I went online to print simple scripts for her, deciding to teach her myself. Angela stood beside us the whole time, beaming like she was the proudest mother in the world.

All the while news of Red John started again. He had laid low for quite a few years, some even hoped he had turned good. While I continued my work as a psychic. Read peoples' minds and all. Charlotte grew to be an honest girl for she never could lie to me.


	21. Chapter 21

[Angela]

Years passed and we were wrapped in our blissful little world. Anne appears sometimes in my dreams, a young toddler now. I cried every time as I cradled her in my arms, kissing her soft little head and rubbing the chubby cheeks that smelt of warm milk. She was safe, warm and happy. That was all I could ask.

A few nights later I dreamt of my days as a child. In the past, whenever something unpleasant from my childhood appeared in my dreams, nothing good happened. The last time I dreamt of my father beating me up, Anne caught the disease two days later. The ominous feeling crept into my heart as I involuntarily relived the dream.

_She forced herself to swallow her dinner of hard bread and butter. Tears flowed down her cheeks as her father accused her of horrible things she would never have done. A rose petal fluttered from the vase of handpicked wild roses towering above her hunched form. _

_As she gulped down the last mouthful, not tasting any flavor, she grabbed the petal and headed for her room. Her father's last yell of accusation was more than she could bear. She flung the crushed petal in a shriek of rage and misery, storming the last few steps into her room and shutting the door as hard as she dared behind her._

_The first drops of rain pattered on her windowpane as she threw herself onto her bed and sobbed into the pillow. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, but she was grateful for the mutual fury they shared. The clouds were raging for her when she could not. For once not caring if her parents heard her, she howled miserably, the sound muffled by the pillow. Her tears left behind dark spots and streaks of emotion._

_She hated this. No one understood. Nobody knew how unhappy she felt inside._

_The storm slowly subsided and she felt calmer. She was weary, all her energy spent on screaming and sobbing. Numbness came over her and she rubbed her puffy eyes hard with her tear-stained knuckles. She rubbed until they were red, swollen and sore. _

I hated those dreams. They made me hate my parents. When I woke up, and realized that they weren't here with me anymore, that my last words to them before running away was "I'm not coming back until you wake up and see that I love this boy." They never went to our wedding, though they sent half-hearted cards of blessing. Well, at least I had something. I wanted to tell them I was sorry, that I loved them, but it's too late. I would probably be talking to a cold stone at a graveyard. I hate those dreams because they made me miss them; they made me feel terribly guilty.

I tried to push away the nagging sense of unease as the day continued. If Patrick noticed, he hid it pretty well. He knew I had days when I wasn't myself. He probably figured out pretty much when I gave a deep answer to Charlotte's simple question. He brought her out so I could have some alone time. I appreciated that.


	22. Chapter 22

[Patrick]

I knew Angela wasn't the cheeriest woman on earth that day. I kind of knew it when she tossed and turned in the middle of the night. I knew about those dreams that made her feel self-loathe. She whimpered and gave small yelps of protest. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want her to find out my knowing of her dreams, but I couldn't stand to see her in such misery, living her childhood and remembering her dead parents. So I tried to keep Charlotte busy. I brought her to the mall, to the park and around town, to let Angela be alone for a while. I figured that much, I could do.

That night as we settled down for dinner, Angela switched on the newscast. We hadn't been catching on the happenings around the world for quite some time and thought it would be nice to know what was going on. Over the clinks of steel forks and grinding knives against the ceramic plates, I heard it.

Red John.


	23. Chapter 23

[Angela]

I knew something was wrong when I saw Patrick's shoulders stiffen and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the fork tightly. Then the news reporter repeated again. _"I repeat, serial killer Red John is back. Serial killer Red John, is back. The body of Amber Montague was found in her home, with Red John's signature of a smiley face written in Amber's own blood on the wall. Please stay clear, everybody, and…"_ The rest I did not hear.

…Oh.

I knew he would be back one day. Serial killers don't just suddenly stop and go, _oh I shouldn't kill anymore I shall be a good kid_, and turn over a new leaf. It doesn't work like that. They kill and kill, until their thirst for blood is satisfied, or they're caught, or they're killed. I remember, a few years ago, when I was just pregnant with Charlotte (and maybe Anne, we still didn't find out when did I start carrying her), I saw him on the television and went threw up. It was a few days later when I found out I wasn't vomiting because I was so disgusted, but I was pregnant.

Patrick was a psychic, and a pretty good one too. He had been called in by the California Bureau of Investigation (CBI) quite a few times, each time being offered a place on the team and helping solve crime cases. Namely, Red John's murders. Of course, he declined. How could he, when he had a wife and a daughter waiting for him at home?

But he's heard of him before, all right. And being a morally righteous person, he didn't like Red John one bit. No sympathy, nothing. And that was rare with Patrick. But I couldn't understand why he got so worked up today. Then I realized. Of course. This was the first time Red John resurfaced when we had Charlotte. It was going to be dangerous.

"It's okay," I whispered to him and placed a hand on his tense forearm. "We'll be safe. I promise." He didn't look satisfied, but at least he gave a cough and continued with the meal. There were no more mentions of Red John tonight.


	24. Chapter 24

[Patrick]

I guess you could say I overreacted with the Red John thing. How could I not, with Angela and Charlotte in danger? I would be too afraid to go to work and leave them all alone. I wanted the CBI to stop him, stop the innocent killing. That was obviously too much to ask, since they had no clue from 7 years back. Being sort of a celebrity, they had been asking me to join their forces, with my psychic powers, yada yada. Of course I refused. I hated violence.

Unknown to anybody else, though, I had been figuring things out on my own. I realized Red John's killing patterns were never stable, or there were things the victims did that weren't released to the public. I was proud to say I was a person of strong moral rights. I detested people with unreasonable actions that involved hurting. Not to mention killing. I wanted to help, but I was afraid I would put my family into danger. I wasn't "The Boy Wonder" from 20 years ago anymore. Angela was carnival royal no more. We were vulnerable in this world, and I wasn't willing to take too big a risk.

After that night I left work reluctantly, only leaving because we needed the steady income. Angela had already quit her work to take care of Charlotte. We did not enclose any of the Red John information to her, fearing to taint her little mind, but we guessed she figured out as much, that a murderer was on the loose. She was a little angel, really.

A few days later, my colleagues called me to a feast. I didn't see any reasons to decline so I went. We finished countless bottles of champagne and French wine. It wasn't usually I got drunk, and I kind of forgot how easily that could happen. All I knew was that with Charlotte added into our lives things got a lot more complicated, we had to act a lot more mature, we weren't a free couple anymore. We had priorities, we had responsibilities. Sometimes they build up to a huge mount and overwhelm me, and it's suffocating. That was the last thing I had in mind, that and the need to release the stress and responsibility, before the fuzzy warmth and numbness took over.


	25. Chapter 25

[Angela]

When I watched the live newscast that night I knew something was wrong. To be precise, I knew Patrick was drunk. His face, below the thick layer of foundation I knew he hated, was red and shining with sweat. His usually clear blue eyes were clouded, glazed, unfocused. He had a goofy grin on his face, the most obvious signs of a drunken Patrick.

It wasn't when he really started talking that I knew something was very, very wrong.

When I heard the interview question I knew everything. I could see, in my mind, how they seemingly invited him to a feast, just to get him drunk and talk about Red John. Because he was the famous psychic celebrity who could read minds. Who could hypnotize you. Who was the huge ray of hope for the CBI to catch Red John. They didn't care that he had a family, he had a wife, a daughter, a family for him to take care of. No, they didn't. They only cared Red John was caught. Because they were the media.

Then came the most terrifyingly reckless statement I ever heard leave from Patrick's mouth.

"Red John, no, he's just another killer… He doesn't do the dirty work himself… He's an ugly, tormented little man, a lonely soul, sad, very sad." He rubbed his eyes and continued. "He's a coward, you see! YOU HEAR THAT, RED JOHN? YOU ARE A COWARD!" At that point of time I knew he had lost it. His eyes had a cold fury raging in the blue depths, his face was flushed and the single vein popped out on his tomato-red neck. The interviewers looked rather alarmed, trying feverishly to calm him down. "He wont hurt you," Patrick continued in a crazed trance, "because he's a coward. He gets people to do the killing for him because he's scared of us. COWARD YOU'RE A FREAKING COWARD!"

Only he didn't say freaking.

Then the interviewer yelled for a commercial and Patrick's microphone was muted. I didn't know why didn't they silence him sooner. But then I never got how the media worked.

But one thing I was positive of, and we were in some serious dirt.


End file.
